


Give Me a Hand

by cyborgoverlord



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-16
Updated: 2014-07-16
Packaged: 2018-02-09 02:11:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1964979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyborgoverlord/pseuds/cyborgoverlord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Simmons struggles with something, Grif offers to help under one condition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Give Me a Hand

For the past 20 minutes, all Grif had heard were grunts and sighs from the cyborg across the room, mixed in with the soft whirring of his body parts.

He looked up, an eyebrow quirked, glancing to watch Simmons.

His position didn’t look too comfortable, an arm bent to reach around to his back, his other arm over his shoulder, grasping at the mechanical panels splayed across where flesh should be.

For the past 20 minutes, Simmons had been attempting to push a panel into place, where one of the latches had come loose. Why Sarge chose latches of all things to place on his back, they will never know.

Of course, Grif could help him- but that wasn’t his style. He knew he could juice something out of this, and spent a majority of the 20 minutes thinking about the ways he could tease Simmons over this.

Another sigh, the exhale shuddering over Simmons’ body as he raised his arms above his head, stretching. There were small mumbles coming from his lips, probably complaints about his flesh arm feeling stiff. Grif never caught what he had to say.

Carefully setting down his food, Grif cracked his knuckles and cleared his throat, catching Simmons’ attention.

"You seem to be struggling there," He started, but was quickly cut off by Simmons’ snapping at him.

"Yeah—no shit. You try reach around your back! It’s hard as hell—god dammit," Simmons raked his flesh hand down his face, arching his back with an audible -pop-.

Grif rolled his eyes, his lip raising, “Ever thought of asking for some help? Cus- y’know, shit’s hard.”

All he got in return from the cyborg was a grunt, leaving some space between what he had to say next, “Yeah, because you’d be so enthusiastic to get off your fat ass and help someone.”

"Hey—!" Grif laughed, attempting to stiffle it, "I might just- depending on how I’m asked…"

Simmons turned where he sat, repositioning himself to glare at Grif with a look of disbelief, “If you’re—insinuating what I think you are, then fuck off.”

Letting out an overdramatic sound of forced shock, Grif scooted forward in his seat, “What? Me? Never! I’m doing this aaaaall in the good of my heart, of course.”

Simmons could only scoff, the sarcasm dripping off of Grif’s words like honey on a stick, “Just—shut up and give me a hand, would you?”

Slowly standing up from his seat to shuffle over to where Simmons was sat, Grif quirked an eyebrow again, looking down to where Simmons was sat, “Only if you promise not to bother me about my eating habits for a week-“

"Whoa-whoa-whoa—hey, no promises."

Of course.


End file.
